


it ends how you'd expect

by water_poet



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angels, Angst, Assassination, Bad Poetry, Broken Promises, F/F, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Relationships, Poetic, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Spiders, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 05:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12292527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/water_poet/pseuds/water_poet
Summary: There's a parabolic storyBut it's boringAnd it ends how you'd expect





	it ends how you'd expect

**Author's Note:**

> Me: You have like three other stories to work on
> 
> Me to me: Just write some super short and shitty angst
> 
> Title taken from Gethsemane by Dry The River

There was once a spider who loved an angel.  
  
An odd pair, to be sure. But there were architects who loved pyromaniacs and rabbits who loved frogs, so in that sense it was really very normal.  
  
The angel would never have admitted it, but she loved the spider, too.  
  
On days when it rained and the spider would hide, she could catch a glimpse of golden wings and remember she had a heartbeat.  
  
The spider climbed her silver webs, but the angel soared on golden wings.  
  
No matter how high she climbed, the spider could not reach.  
  
The world she lived in, all darkness and mud and pain, was miles away from the heavens above.  
  
The light and warmth from that golden smile, that perfect gaze, could only light her world for so long.  
  
The spider drifted away on black clouds and lavender storms, the earth shaking her down again and again until she couldn't feel her bruises.  
  
There were no angels anymore.  
  
There were broken humans, with shattered hearts and dented wings.  
  
Once, the angel could fix broken hearts.  
  
But now it was broken bones and bloodied skin that dirtied her hands.  
  
She held herself together with her work, with gauze and sweat and tears, wishing every day that she hadn't given her own heart away in exchange for a dent in her bed and an ache in her chest.  
  
The spider gives the angel back her heart in the form of a bullet between her eyes.  
  
The rain and blood trickle down the street and the spider feels her heartbeat for the first time as she looks.  
  
But surely there are better things to weep for than broken heart and fallen angels?  
  
Salt burns her tongue.  
  
There was never an angel.  
  
There was never a spider.  
  
There was a doctor and a soldier, in love.  
  
There was a war, and a loss, and a bullet.  
  
Pale eyes reflect the street lamps above, and the spider disappears into the night.  
  
The world weeps for the angel, but the spider does not, can not, _will_ not cry.  
  
There are better things to weep for than death.  
  
Life, perhaps.

**Author's Note:**

> I should do some actual work now


End file.
